


Forgotten Melody

by Lockea



Category: Tales of Symphonia
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Slavery, Trauma Recovery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2016-11-06
Packaged: 2018-08-29 13:42:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8492026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lockea/pseuds/Lockea
Summary: What if the Desians had gotten to Anna before Dirk did? A child without an identity, shaped by the world around him, grows up a slave and experiment in Asgard Human Ranch. As Kratos struggles between loyalty to his former student and the paternal instinct to protect a child in need, the child quickly becomes a pawn in a much greater chess game. His only hope to break free lies in another of Cruxis’ pawns, the Chosen Colette. But as both embark on a journey not just to save the world, but to save themselves, it soon becomes apparent that the once identity-less child must assume a role he never dreamed possible; that of a hero and a savior.





	

**Author's Note:**

> *Grabs the defibrillator and tries to breathe life back into this fandom*
> 
> Oh my gosh the world is ending. I'm actually writing outside the Final Fantasy/Kingdom Hearts fandom. I've been a Tales of Symphonia fan for nigh on ten years now (back in my day you had to play with TWO discs in the Gamecube). Outside of the Final Fantasy series, Tales of Symphonia was the first role playing game I fell in love with. I had hoped the steam release would reinvigorate the fandom some, so I've been sitting on top of this fic for a while now. I recently picked it up again because reasons. I can't promise I'll update terribly often but this is basically an id fic for me.

_Home of the Angels  
_ _Derris Kharlan_

“Please, let me see him.”

Pathetic. He sounded so pathetic here; powerless to stop the way his voice trembled with so much emotion that he wasn’t used to feeling. He’d stopped fighting the guards that had brought him here, to this lifeless throne room of a lifeless god. Yggdrasil looked like he was gloating, seated on that stone throne of his while Derris Kharlan stirred and ruptured in the background, casting waves of mana through this place.

“Why should I?” Yggdrasil asked in that sing-song tone of his that he always used when he was mocking them. “You’re worse than Yuan. At least when he runs off to make a mess of things there’s some benefit in the long run. You… you on the other hand have destroyed years worth of research into the nature of the crystals at our throats. Now you have the gall to kneel here and beg forgiveness?”

“I am not asking for forgiveness.” He was sure to keep his voice steadier this time. “I don’t want or need your forgiveness, for I am not ashamed of what I’ve done.”

He waited a moment, waited and watched with his own sort of grim satisfaction as his words wiped a bit of that smugness from Yggdrasil’s face. If he won against the god-child today, it would be a pyrrhic victory, but his victories had become so sparse and few in the last thousand years that he would take what he could get.

“He is of my blood, and that makes him an angel in his own right. Please, give him back to me so that I can raise him in Derris  
Kharlan where he belongs.”

Yggdrasil laughed at that, throwing his head back with the force of the sound. “That’s rich, even for you.” He rose from his throne and crossed the room, luminescent wings fluttering lazily behind him as he walked and knelt before his subordinate. “Did you tell that research specimen that when he was born? Or did you lie to her like you’re lying now and tell her that her child belonged out among the wild humans – that he was just as human as you are?”

Yggdrasil paused, their faces inches away from one another. “Well, it’s the truth I suppose. You’re not human, and neither was she at that point. Imagine, a half-angel hybrid right in the possession of my brilliant cardinals! This may be the secret to creating more Cruxis Crystals, you know. Perhaps only the kin of angels can succeed in the Angelus Project.”

Kneeling there, he blanched and struggled. “No.” His words were like a whisper, so desperate in the roar of blood in his ears. “You can’t do that to him, please!”

His pleas fell on deaf ears now. Yggdrasil had turned away from him. “I’ll make you a deal. You ran away for five years, so you’ll  
stay confined for five years now. If you behave and don’t betray me again, then I will allow you two weeks every year to spend with him. Generous, no?”

“No, you can’t—“

Yggdrasil clicked his tongue in the back of his throat and turned to regard his unruly subordinate. It was a shame he’d promised his sister that he wouldn’t kill either of them. Yuan, who had amassed an army against him, and this man kneeling before him who had stolen a human specimen, impregnated her, and then fled with her and that child she had born. At this  
point old allegiances had become nuisances instead, but a promise was a promise.

“Kratos.” He spoke the name lowly – oh how this infuriating man no longer deserved his name. “I think you forget what it is  
that I can and cannot do.” He looked to the guards, his precious lifeless angels. “Put him in one of the cells. We must give our dear Seraphim some time to think about where his loyalties lie.”

_*~*~*_

_Five years later_  
_Asgard Human Ranch,  
_ _Sylvarant_

Grand Cardinal Kvar had spared no expense for the arrival of the representative from Cruxis. The rooms he was afforded spoke of a luxury that was seldom seen outside of the Tethe’alla royal palace – all soft fabrics and rich colors, even if it did little to hide the metal walls of this industrial fortress. The Asgard Human Ranch was a factory of sorts, one with a nefarious and sickening purpose in the grand scheme of things, and as Kratos took his seat on the edge of an opulent bed he would find no rest in, he was forced to remember that pretty silk often hid the worst stains of conscience.

Sixteen hours ago, he’d been left to his own thoughts in the dungeons of Welgaia, City of Angels. Now here he was, in the full dress of a Seraphim, playing loyal to a child he barely recognized anymore. Sometimes he struggled to remember just when it was that the sweet child he’d trained in the art of swordsmanship had changed into a deranged and sadistic man. Sometimes, he struggled to remember that there had been a better time – that maybe once, centuries ago, there had been compassion somewhere inside a heart that had long since turned to stone.

The door panel slide open with a soft hiss and Kratos rose to his feet, keeping a steady gaze on the young Desian woman who stepped through the door and bowed to him. Polished blue armor caught in the harsh light – yet another reminder of the death inherent here.

Without waiting for his permission, the woman spoke. “My Lord, the Grand Cardinal has sent his apologies that he could not meet with you this afternoon, but he hopes your stay here is pleasant and the rooms to your liking.”

Kratos nodded, the patience of centuries keeping him from snorting at the woman’s words. Perhaps she believed them, but Kratos knew better. Kvar was right to be wary of Kratos at the moment. Yggdrasil had ordered him to behave, but Kratos was sure even Yggdrasil would not fault him for leaving just a few marks on one of his Cardinals – after all, what use did a murderous scientist have for two hands?

“The hospitality is generous.” Kratos replied automatically.

Another bow, polite and elegant like all of Kvar’s subordinates were. “The Grand Cardinal hopes that you will accept the slave he has selected for you during your time here in the ranch, that he might make your stay more pleasant.”

Was that it then? Kratos wondered, as he stared past the woman at the child behind her. Brown hair fell lank and long around a thin gaunt face and dull brown eyes. Unlike the woman in her polished armor, he was dressed in little more than dirty rags, ill-fitted to his tiny form. The low neckline revealed the silver collar about his throat – the mark of all slaves here. On the back of his right hand was the red exesphere that Kratos had come to recognize, when it had been embedded in another person’s hand.

What would Anna say if she could speak right now?

“Thank you. The gift is most appreciated.” He forced himself to speak calmly. “You may relay that message to your master.”

He could have sent Kvar a subtle threat – a small reminder in the form of politeness that Kratos may have been just as chained as the child before him, but he was still a wolf and still possessive. He could have, but all he really wanted was for the woman to leave him alone and let him try to put together the pieces of things that had broken a very long time ago.

Two weeks every year. That had been the deal Yggdrasil had made with him. Two weeks, in the guise of a yearly inspection of the Sylvarant ranches, as an interaction between a Seraphim – a hated Desian – and a lowly human slave.

That once sweet child was truly a sadistic monster.

“Do you remember me?” Kratos asked. The child stared at him with wide brown eyes – the exact same color as his mother’s – and shook his head. Kratos sighed. “I knew your mother, years ago.” He explained.

The truth was far too painful, if the child did not remember him.

He’d been a toddler barely able to speak coherently on the fateful day Kvar’s men had chased them down in the village of Iselia. They’d fled up the hillside, trying to get away, and trying to keep their presence secret from the terrified villagers, still so wary because of the birth of the young Chosen less than a year prior.

Now… now he was seven. Kratos counted the years twice. Five years in Welgaia had been a blink of an eye to him, really, but now that bouncing, smiling, chattering baby was this gaunt and sullen wraith before him. What did he remember of happier times? Nothing, if he did not remember Kratos. 

“What’s your name?” Kratos asked, as he knelt so that he was face level with the boy. He reached out to touch him, but the child flinched and shook his head. “You don’t have one?” A nod.

Kratos sighed and closed his eyes. “Your mother gave you one, when you were born.” He’d hoped the mention would get a reaction from the child, but instead the boy was staring at his feet, avoiding contact with Kratos at all costs. Kratos reached for him again, gently taking hold of the boy by his shoulders and pulling him closed in a hug. The child probably didn’t remember the last time Kratos had held him like this, five years ago. How cruel of them – how cruel of them all to take away everything from an innocent child because of the sins of the parent. Even his name was denied him.

Well, he decided, Kratos would make things right as best he could. He owed the child that much at least. “Her name was Anna, you know. She was a slave here too, but she was born in a sprawling town built atop a wide lake….”

He spoke, telling the story of a young and vibrant woman who possessed an optimism undiminished by her status in the Ranch. He spoke until the boy in his arms relaxed, until the two of them were sitting instead of kneeling, and the child was watching him without fear in his eyes, although that dull wariness would likely never go away. He told the story without a word of the boy’s father in it – as if he simply didn’t exist. He didn’t, in a way. Or, more accurately, he’d never had any right at all to be a player in this woman’s tale.

“When she was pregnant with her son, Anna thought long and hard about what to call him. It had to be something special, for her precious child. In her hometown children were often given the names of their grandparents as tradition, but Anna’s father was such a dim and distant figure to her – he’d died defending the village during the raid when Anna had been taken by the Desians. Yet his heroism was the stuff of ballads. So Anna looked to the ballads for inspiration – not the ballads of Sylvarant, however, but the ballads of the Kharlan War.

“One hero sung about in these ballads was a warrior from a tiny borderland near the Ancient Kharlan Grounds. His wife was a priestess of the temple there and spoke out against the war, which was fought because of fear and prejudice against one another. The Elves feared the Humans, and all feared those in-between. He, like many in the borderlands, believed in neither  
side. Together, the two of them raised blade and staff to protect the innocent forced to flee due to prejudice.

“One evening he and his wife were escorting a group of half-elves to safety near the Kharlan grounds when they were set upon by Sylvanti forces – humans sent to murder the half-elves. His wife had just given birth and carried their babe in a sling across her shoulder, but he fought for her and for the half-elves – he fought and took down an entire squad of Sylvanti  
soldiers with just his blade alone. The half-elves fled to safety, but the Sylvanti sent more men after the warrior. He was great, but there was only so much he could do against the might of one of the world’s two greatest armies.

“So he raised his blade one last time and sang to the Guardian Spirits for strength to protect the innocent and the oppressed. Before him lay a hundred men sent to kill him for what he’d done, and he had so very little hope of surviving.”

“What happened to him?”

The voice was tiny and soft, unsure of itself but Kratos smiled down at the child who had finally spoken for the first time, curled up beside him. Like the warrior had acted to protect his wife, child, and the innocent lives of all those who passed through the borderlands, so too would Kratos act to protect Anna’s most precious son.

“He fought for the most noble cause of all. He gave his life for the innocent, and didn’t let power or greed corrupt him. Because of that, his son grew up hearing the stories of his father’s bravery. His son was one of the hero, Mithos’s, companions.” Kratos closed his eyes. He remembered the ballad so well – how often had he heard it. He remembered the night by the fire when he’d sung it to Anna, his voice low like the dim fire light as she cradled her swollen belly. The child had been due any day, and Anna had begged to know the story of Kratos’s favorite hero.

“His name was Lloyd.” Kratos explained. “And so when you were born, that is the name she gave you. Someone who looked out for everyone, without prejudice. That was her prayer for you.”

“Lloyd.” The child’s awe came in a breathless whisper. Oh how it broke Kratos to hear the child react in such a way to something as simple as a name.

It was criminally easy to look down at the boy and remember, so many years ago, another child dressed in rags with sullen blue eyes that seemed to stare straight into his soul. That child with his blond hair and his innate abilities. Humans had seen him as nothing more than a tool, but Kratos had known he was so much more than that. Now, four thousand years later, it seemed a cruel fate to see the roles reversed so, where his own stared up at him through the eyes of a slave.

When had everything fallen to pieces like this?

He put the child to sleep and waited until his breathing slowed. Kratos would not sleep – not here or ever because of the Angel’s Curse upon him. Instead he watched and he waited and he thought.

Yggdrasil’s supposed kindnesses were their own sorts of cruelty. What did he hope to accomplish by torturing Kratos so? If he’d sought to remind Kratos of the troubled past, then he’d succeeded.  It was impossible to look anywhere around these ranches and not be reminded of the old cruelty the humans once visited upon the half-elves, now told in reverse. It was impossible to look at the child of his blood and not remember a different youth whom he’d loved as a son, bound in chains with hopeless blue eyes begging him for reprieve.

“I’d really like to know what it is you’re planning old friend.” Kratos whispered. “Because if you wanted to remind me, then you’ve succeeded. And history, friend, does repeat itself.”

It was the only promise he could make, all things said and done, in such a hopeless situation.

_*~*~*_

_Ten years later  
_ _Iselia, Village of_ _Oracles_

It seemed the Goddess’s will that a mercenary travelling alone with his dog came through Iselia on the Day of Prophecy. Few recognized him, but the Chosen’s grandmother, the priestess Phaidra, was not one to forget a face… or a destiny.

Raine Sage, the village teacher and one of the few elves alive in Sylvarant, sat beside the man and across from her at the table. “Are you sure we can trust a stranger with the Chosen’s safety?” She asked of Phaidra, even while the old woman waved her off. The elf was always so suspicious of outsiders, even though she was little more than one herself. Yet Phaidra knew Raine to have a gentle heart, just as she knew the auburn-haired man before her had one as well. Even if that heart did seem slightly more cold than it had when he’d come through the village with his wife and son fifteen years ago. Oh, how he seemed exactly the same, too, barely into his middle age with a face as smooth and fresh as a youth’s.

“We’ve already trusted him once.” Phaidra was quick to point out. “He stopped the Desians at the temple, did he not?”

Raine nodded grudgingly. “Yes, but that does not mean that we alone are capable of guarding the Chosen on her Journey. I’m not comfortable with it being just the three of us.”

Phaidra hummed. Yes, she could see the elven woman’s point. One healer and one mercenary was a far cry from the entourage of priests that the book of scripture called for. Yet all the priests had been killed by Desians at the temple. “What about your brother then? He is well learned in the artes of magic, is he not?”

The mercenary, who’d been quietly content until then, shook his head. “This is no journey for children to make. Elf or not, the boy is too young.”

“Twelve is the same age as the Hero Mithos, when he ended the Kharlan War, is it not?” Phaidra pointed out. “Genis is a sensible, if introverted, boy.” She paused, then thought about the significance of a group of four travelling to Regenerate the world. “You would be a group as the ancient one was!” She teased. “Your Hero, Colette the Chosen. The healer, Raine, and warrior Mr. Aurion. Then, lastly, the mage Genis.”

“With all due respect, Priestess.” The mercenary interrupted coolly, “This is no field trip.”

Phaidra laughed. “No, no it is not; yet if there is nothing else that the legends of old have taught us, it’s that a small group of people with a definitive goal and the courage to pursue relentlessly have the power to change the world.”

Both Raine and the mercenary frowned, neither quite believing the words of the old woman before them. “I would feel better with my brother beside me, rather than left alone here in the village.” Raine admitted slowly. “You’re absolutely right – he’s competent and he’s one of Colette’s few friends, but he is still a child and shouldn’t stay here without me.”

“You know we’d always look out for your brother, Raine. He’s like a son to me. But you are correct – he should go along. Colette may need a friend in these, her last days as a mortal.” Phaidra said. “I have always found it sad, the fate of those born of the Angels. They ascend to Heaven and leave us mortals behind. Even sixteen years after her birth, I still haven’t prepared myself for my granddaughter’s ascension.”

“But she must go.” The mercenary spoke softly in the silence of this small house. “She must wake the Goddess as the great hero once did. Only then will this dying world be restored.”

The two women nodded. Yes, they all knew the stories. If the goddess slept, the world would be destroyed. So they would send a daughter of Iselia to wake the Goddess, and maybe by sacrificing one person, many more would be safe.

The auburn-haired mercenary closed his eyes and tried not to think about lies, and goddesses, and a child with somber brown eyes. Who was he to lecture these women on the meaning of sacrifice, after all? He had abandoned his son to monsters.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me yelling about life and reblogging random things on my [personal tumblr](http://lockea.tumblr.com). I'm always looking for more Tales of Symphonia blogs so feel free to let me know if you reblog/create that content. If you want more writing, check out my [writing tumblr](http://storytellerlockea.tumblr.com).


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